“Abigail…”
I nearly jumped at the voice, then I settled.
“Khalid,” I said.
“Call me Prince,” he said with a gross smile.
I barely stifled my laugh. “No, thanks.”
Real-life prince and princesses from places like Dubai and Denmark often attended our parties. Maybe somewhere else that would’ve been impressive, but in Crowne Point they were just another douche.
“Your hands are empty,” he said, noting my lack of drink.
I stared off the balcony toward the horizon. Below us, someone was lighting off what looked like anti-tank weapons, by the rattling boom and accompanying tangerine flash in the sky. A sign everyone was getting drunker, and the night was getting darker.
“I see you’re putting that Yale degree to good use.”
He laughed, but it was empty. The kind people like him use to try and butter me up, as if I wasn’t raised around his kind, as if I can’t see right through him.
I side-eyed him. “What do you want?”
He laughed again, then slid one arm along the railing, getting closer. “Straight to the point, Abby. I like that.”
Then his hand was on the back of my neck, his alcohol-laced breath on my cheek.
I pushed him away.
Ew.
“C’mon, Crowne. You’ve never said no before. Why start now?”
Sometime in boarding school, someone started the rumor I was easy. I never denied it, because denying it was akin to ratifying the thing. Sort of like with this asshole—the more you say no, the more they hear yes.
He came at me again, with more fervor.
So I pushed him with both hands. His drink fell from his grasp, landing on the bottom deck with a shatter. Someone yelled party foul.
“So you open your legs for every other guy but not me?” He came back at me, pushed me flat against the railing. “What’s the deal, Abby?”
No sooner had Khalid pressed his hand between my legs and fear wrapped its ugly hands around my throat, than he was yanked back. Violently.
Theo.
His name was a sigh of cool relief in my veins.
He held Khalid by the collar, practically lifting him on his tiptoes.
“Don’t touch her,” he growled.
Khalid rolled his eyes. “Someone fetch a bone; the dog is growling again.”
Theo grabbed his other arm, putting it behind his back the way he’d done with Alaric and Geoff, forcing a yelp from Khalid. Anytime Theo acted like this, my heart fluttered. I could get used to it, I thought. I was getting used to it, and that was the problem.
Theo shoved Khalid against the railing with so much force the railing shook. “Apologize.”
I couldn’t imagine a prince, third in line to the throne, saying sorry to anyone, much less a girl.
And I was right.